“You’re not drinking,” Jessie said.
“I don’t drink when I’m working. The glass of wine I had last night was it till this is over. Add to that, I’m carrying.”
Carrying. For an instant, she had forgotten it wasn’t long ago people were shooting at her. That, and the reminder she was nothing more than a debt he believed he owed her brother, did nothing to heighten her mood.
Bran glanced around at their colorful surroundings. “My brothers and I used to love Halloween. Mom would let us pick our own costumes, and we all tried to outdo each other to see which of us could look the scariest.”
“I’m more a Thanksgiving and Christmas person myself. I look forward to the holiday season every year.” The thought sobered her. She wouldn’t be having Thanksgiving or Christmas with her father this year. Her mom was gone. Her brother, Danny. Now her dad. She would face the holidays alone. She felt a quick burn behind her eyes and glanced away, hoping Bran wouldn’t notice.
He reached over and covered her hand where it rested on top of the table. “Hey, I can see where your thoughts just went. You’re welcome at our house. Chase and his wife, Harper, are planning to make a big Thanksgiving dinner. They’re newlyweds, and Harper is excited to be hosting. There’ll be other people there too, friends of the family. For Christmas, we’re all flying down to the family ranch out in the Texas Hill Country. It’s real pretty out there.”
She wiped an unexpected tear from her cheek. “That’s really nice of you, but I’m sure I’ll find something to do.” She managed a half-hearted smile. “I’m just not used to Dad being gone, you know? It doesn’t seem quite real.”
She toyed with the paper napkin the waitress had set in front of her. “Dad was my rock. He was always there when I needed him. I miss him every day.” She looked Bran straight in the face. “I’m going to clear his name, Bran. No matter what it takes.”
He squeezed her hand. “We’re only getting started. The next few days should be interesting.”
The drinks and wings came. Bran helped himself, and they talked and began to relax. She probably shouldn’t be drinking because Bran was looking better and better. She wanted to reach out and brush back the curl of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead. She wanted to run her hands over all those glorious muscles beneath his shirt.
Inwardly she sighed. She didn’t have sex with men she had only just met, no matter how attractive they were. After Ray Cummings, she wasn’t sure she would ever have sex again—though she had tried on two separate occasions. Guys she had been dating for a while and believed their relationship might be going somewhere. Both attempts had been disastrous, embarrassing for both of them and especially her.
She finished her cosmo and was thinking about ordering another when Bran rose abruptly from his chair.
“Time to go,” he said, but the wings he’d ordered were only half gone.
“What is it?”
“Not sure. Couple guys came in after we did. Fellow wearing a Frankenstein mask and the guy next to him with a skeleton face. They’re in jeans and sneakers, not costumes, and they seemed a little too interested in us. Don’t look at them. Just get up and let’s go.”
Jessie stood and started walking. Bran tossed some bills on the table to cover the drinks, and a sizable tip, and they crossed the room to the door.
“Keep walking,” Bran said. “I’ll be right behind you.” He held back long enough to see if the men were following, then caught up with her a few paces later.
“They were paying their tab, getting ready to leave. Head for the car.” They walked hurriedly in that direction, Bran clicked the door locks, and they climbed inside. His hand went automatically to the Glock clipped to his belt beneath his shirt, then he started the engine.
They drove out of the lot, following the road around the main building to the structure where they were staying. Hurriedly, they climbed the wooden stairs to the outdoor corridor that led to the rooms.
Bran stopped her at the door to the suite. “Wait here.” He pulled his pistol and went inside, came out a few seconds later, his jacket off, his gun reholstered.
“All clear. Go in and lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me. I’ll be right back.”
Jessie walked into the room and Bran closed the door. She counted to ten, then turned the knob and cracked the door enough to see what was going on in the corridor. Bran had almost reached the staircase. He took a quick look over the railing, then flattened himself behind one of the wooden pillars supporting the roof.
Jessie could hear the sound of quiet footfalls coming up to the second floor, and her pulse slammed into gear. She glanced around the suite in search of a weapon, wished she had the revolver she kept for self-defense in her apartment. She found a black, long-handled LED flashlight in Bran’s gear bag and raced back to the door.
Through the crack, she saw two men top the stairs, one around six feet, with what looked like a tattoo on the side of his neck and dark brown hair pulled back in a man bun. The other guy was way taller, a mountain of a man, thick-shouldered and muscular, with a bald head and straggly blond beard. Each held a semiautomatic pistol.
Jessie’s heart raced as Bran stepped out from behind the pillar, grabbed the guy with the tattoo by the arm and twisted, wrenching the gun out of his hand, sending it flying. Bran spun and shot his leg out in a sideways kick that smashed against the bald man’s wrist, knocking his pistol into the air. The gun flew over the railing of the balcony, and the fight was on.
Gripping the flashlight, Jessie ran toward the men as Bran threw a series of punches that sent the tattooed guy careening backward, crashing to the floor of the corridor. Bran whirled to face the bald man, ducking a sharp, heavy blow and throwing a powerful punch that buried fist-deep in the man’s stomach, doubling him over.
The tattooed man shoved to his feet and charged, and Jessie swung the heavy LED flashlight, hitting him in the head and sending him staggering into the wall. His man bun came loose, and his hair fell down to his shoulders. Swearing foully, he pushed to his feet and rushed her, stopped before he reached her when he saw the fight was nearly over and Bran was winning.
With another foul curse, he spun and ran in the opposite direction, toward a set of stairs at the far end of the hall.
Bran was still throwing punches when one of the doors along the corridor flew open and a slender woman with a little girl in a pink princess costume and an adorable little boy in a plush, black-and-yellow leopard outfit walked out into the hall.
Everything happened at once. A knife appeared in the bald, bearded man’s hand. His arm shot toward the little boy and wrapped around his neck, yanking him off his feet.
